No More Pretenses
by Carrieosity
Summary: Castiel was tired of waiting, but apparently so was Dean. At the right moment, it takes less than a nudge to get things moving.


In the end, there was no grand gesture necessary, no eloquent declarations of desire or intent. It was a small thing, as the beginnings of huge things often are. Back home from a hunt, the last day of which had been particularly trying and unexpectedly dirty to a degree that had surprised everyone, Cas had been on his way to his room following a much appreciated hot shower. A week on the road had caused him to forget some basics of communal living - still rather new to him in the first place - but he hadn't thought it too much an inconvenience to have to traipse back through the chilly bunker hallway wearing only his towel, robe hanging forgotten on the back of a chair in his room.

And then he'd run into Dean.

And maybe it was just that he was so very tired, and it had been a long day...week, month, _eight years_...but Cas simply couldn't do things the way they'd _always_ done them, where he'd excuse himself, avoid eye contact, pretend he didn't see the way Dean's eyes would sweep over his chest and down his back as he passed, and neither of them would say a word or acknowledge the heat in the air between them or the way they both seemed to need some extra time alone in their rooms immediately following these moments. No, he just didn't _want_ to do that anymore. It was too much.

So instead, he turned and faced Dean, who stopped moving, surprised by the change of script. Without a word, he stared evenly into Dean's face, lifting an eyebrow in a silent, undeniable question. And perhaps Dean had been just as frustrated by the years of pretense, or maybe the lengthy hunt had worn away his stubbornness, because instead of blushing and making an awkward escape, he simply paused, then shrugged. And grinned.

It was enough.

The nonverbal "oh, what the hell" acknowledgment lasted only a heartbeat or two, and Castiel was crossing the short distance between them without further hesitation, gripping Dean by the shoulders and continuing forward until they met the wall on the other side of the hallway. Air left Dean's mouth in a faint, shocked grunt, but there was no time for further reaction before Castiel's lips were on his, firm and demanding. Years of dancing tentatively around each other, never being quite sure enough to commit to action, were finished, and Dean's response was immediate and decisive. A low groan rumbled in his throat as Cas's hands slipped from his shoulders to his waist, and then around his hips, pulling his lower body forward and against his own.

When Cas broke the deep kiss in order to let his mouth roam along Dean's jawline toward his throat, Dean gasped, "My room...closer." He tried to push Cas away so that he could move toward his door, but Cas simply reached down and grabbed him under his thighs, pushing forward with his chest to brace Dean against the wall as he lifted. "Oh, _fuck_ ," Dean moaned, wrapping his legs around Cas's waist and throwing his arms around his shoulders; with seemingly no effort, Cas then stepped backward, carrying Dean down the hall and _kicking_ Dean's door open so they could step through.

A few steps more, and Dean was placed upon his bed gently before Cas stepped away. Dean's eyes, which had fluttered closed, now opened...and opened some more, as Cas realized belatedly that his towel had been a discarded casualty of their flurry of hallway activity. Dean's gaze roamed boldly over Cas's body, and his earlier grin returned.

Still no words were needed. Still no questions, no discussions, no mention of "when?" or "how long?" or "why?" This moment - this was the only moment in question, and it was in question no longer. All the certainty Castiel had ever felt was mirrored in Dean's eyes and echoed in the whispers of hands pulling at fabric, racing to answer flesh with flesh. Before the last scrap of clothing could touch the floor, Cas was crawling over Dean's body, pressing himself to him, exulting in the feverish warmth that was so new, yet so familiar.

The first stroke said _finally_. The second said _of course_. By the third, there was nothing but ecstatic incoherence and urgency for _more more now more._ Dean's cocky grin had slipped into a more awed expression of wonder; Castiel was a force, moving and touching and predicting each need and craving before Dean could think to express it.

The next intelligible words to be spoken felt almost apologetic for their necessity. "I want…" Dean whispered. "In my…" He gestured toward the table beside his bed, and Castiel nodded, reaching into the drawer and retrieving the small bottle of lubricant hidden inside. A click, a caress, a cool, slick finger tracing between Dean's legs. Dean moaned, biting at his lip; Cas leaned forward to swallow the sound as he explored and opened Dean's hole.

The temperature in the room seemed to increase exponentially as one finger became two, which became three, and Dean writhed and thrust downward onto Cas's hand. Feeling even his own, long-tested patience begin to stretch thin, Cas mouthed at Dean's chest, biting at a nipple and revelling in the responding whimper and the way fingers clawed at his shoulder blades in response.

Then there was no more waiting. Gently removing his fingers and with a last lick at Dean's throat, Cas lifted himself to his knees and guided himself, inch by careful inch, inside of Dean. For a long moment, there was hardly even the sound of breathing. Dean's eyes flew open and locked with Cas's, seemingly desperate not to miss this moment; in the gaze they held, there suddenly seemed a torrent of communication, a dam broken, releasing feelings carefully hidden until now.

"Dean…"

"Cas, I…"

"I know."

"Yeah?"

"I, too."

"Oh…"

Castiel couldn't hold back movement any more, and he thrust deep; Dean grappled with the sheets at his sides and lifted his legs to wrap around Cas's waist, pulling him in even deeper. Twin groans replaced talk. As intensity rose in his core, Cas struggled to keep his eyes open, and he leaned forward once more to find connection with his lips instead.

"Cas...Casti _el!_ " The increased friction against Dean's length, trapped in the slick slide between their bodies, was too much, and Dean cried out and came hard, head thrown back against the pillows. The sound of his full name, the clench of Dean's hole around him, and the sight of this man coming completely undone under him dragged Cas over the edge as well, with a shout he was sure would be audible throughout the bunker.

Lying beside each other afterward, Cas traced a finger over Dean's collarbone, smiling faintly. It would have been foreseeable that their previous dance would immediately resume, with refusals to discuss what had happened and the pretense of a platonic, brotherly relationship used to keep distance. Apparently, however, the dam that had broken had broken for good, and Dean was as willing to accept that as Cas felt. It was as much a miracle as any of the physical sensations he'd just experienced, Cas thought.

"So either you've had way more experience than I thought, homicidal reapers and bizarro marriages aside, or else the whole thing back at the brothel was a complete act," Dean said, smirking.

Cas rolled his eyes and smirked back. "I've been on this earth longer than you can imagine, and watched humans for longer than that," he said. "It's not the _action_ with which I was unfamiliar, but the, as you say, 'act.' You use euphemisms and pretexts to handle situations with which you're uncomfortable, and apparently sex is the foremost of those situations. I could barely understand a word you or Miranda were saying that night." At Dean's raised eyebrow, he clarified, "Miranda was Chastity's real name. Even that was a reference I didn't understand."

Dean chuckled. "So you're more into the direct approach, I see?"

"It seems to have worked well, I'd say."

"Well, eventually, anyway."

Cas smiled serenely. "I don't mind waiting, Dean, so long as when the moment finally arises, we can meet it honestly. No falseness, no more pretending."

"I could definitely be on board with that." Dean suddenly laughed. "I guess I have to be, because there's no way Sam missed hearing us."

"Or finding my towel on the floor outside your door."

"Oops."

"We'll deal with apologies for lack of tact in the morning. For now, though, why don't we make better use of the evening?"

Another grin, another shrug, and the kiss that followed said all that was needed.


End file.
